Switching Hands
by Joon
Summary: Morgan recalls the history of the skull. TVverse


Morgan's grandfather was the one to point out to him that all of the skull's previous owners had met with an untimely death. He highlighted that consistency as an answer to his grandson's query to why as a young man he had turned down the offer to take possession of the artifact. The 10 year old future warden thought such a thing would have been an honor.

"The spirit cursed to that skull performed unspeakable evils, Donald," the old man said. "Curses that powerful bleed onto those near them. No one who has owned it has survived. I wouldn't have taken that skull for all the riches in the world."

"Why doesn't the High Council just destroy it if it's that dangerous, Grandad?"

"Politics, Donald. And ambition. Some would do anything to make their mark in this world. And having a spirit with that much knowledge at your command can bring you far. Such reputation protects the skull." The 10 year old nodded gravely, as if he understood the intricacies of such tactical maneuvers.

"So who did take the skull?"

"That fool, Jonas Ellery. Almost got a seat in the High Council. Not that it mattered much to him after he got slaughtered by the Fury he antagonized. See what price you pay for using an accursed soul as your aide?" he huffed. "Just being in the presence of that thing should be enough to deter people."

As Morgan got older he'd casually researched and found out more about the crime that had banished Hrothbert of Bainbridge's soul to eternal imprisonment. In reading about the long list of the skull's keepers, he found it unlikely that the skull's curse was somehow causing the deaths of its owners. It made more sense that it was blind ambition, coupled with reckless behavior that brought them to an early grave.

But it seemed there were many who shared the senior Morgan's sentiment.

Historically, the skull had once been sought after. The trapped spirit was considered a veritable treasure trove of magical knowledge and a powerful resource. But once the trail of dead owners had been established, the wizard community began playing a game of Hot Potato with the skull. Only the bravest…or perhaps the most ambitious willingly took possession of it, despite what history told them would be their fate. Each seemed determined to be the first to win over the curse. All had succumbed. The next to try his luck was Justin Morningway.

At the time Morningway put in his bid to take possession of the cursed object, Morgan was close to completing his studies and was preparing for field training. The future warden's mentor allowed Morgan and a fellow student to sit on the Council's meeting wherein Morningway made his case. It would be the first time Morgan would see the damned soul.

"The Council is surprised by the eagerness in which you stake your claim, Morningway," stated the Merlin who presided over the case. On a small end table to the Head Councilman's right sat the oft-discussed artifact. "Surely you have heard of the rumors surrounding the fate of its keeper. Your own teacher met with an unfortunate end."

"With all due respect, I have never been one to pay attention to rumors," said Morningway, a superior smirk daring to make an appearance. "The skull is a powerful tool. And like any instrument, it must be handled with discipline and control. Traits that I have more than demonstrated."

Morningway was still a relatively young man who possessed the arrogance of someone much older and who had an impressive family legacy to back him. Morgan disliked the neat figure almost immediately. He thought the Council would want to keep something as cursed as the skull out of the hands of a man like Morningway, who so obviously reeked of ambition. But Morgan was also beginning to learn the complex political machinations of the High Council. Something he had only pretended to understand as a small child to impress his grandfather.

In any case, his real interest was to see the notorious ghost for the first time. When it was summoned out of the bony prison, Morgan sat forward a little in his seat in anticipation.

By then, he had seen his share of ghosts. But for the first time, Morgan understood what his grandfather had been talking about. By all appearances, the ghost appeared solid and human. He was neatly dressed and stood with polite attention as the Merlin declared Justin Morningway as the newly appointed keeper.

But there was something that surrounded the spectral figure like an oily shroud. It radiated out an energy that clutched at those around it with icy fingers and whispered of eternal damnation. Being exposed to it for the first time, Morgan felt distinctly uncomfortable. And judging by the shifting of the student next to him, he was not alone. It was no wonder people were turned off from volunteering to house the ghost. Maybe there was something to be said about the curse tainting those around it.

"Now THAT, is creepy," his fellow student whispered to him.

Morgan studied the spirit's lean face. Its expression was passive. Maybe slightly disdainful. He wondered if perhaps the ghost was purposefully radiating out such intense vibrations, to affect the world in the only way it could now.

But Justin Morningway looked untroubled by the ghost and merely stepped forward to take the skull from the Merlin's offered hand. Once in his hand, a smile curved up on the young man's face. "Inside, ghost," he commanded. The ghost wordlessly vanished and Morgan felt his companion breath a small sigh of relief.

Years later, Morningway beat his predecessor's record of staying alive in the skull's presence. People in magical community reset their watches and silently placed bets. Morgan had encountered the spirit a handful of times soon after and had always inwardly grimaced at the ripples of darkness that pulsated and silently howled the ghost's curse. When the newly appointed warden heard from a colleague that Morningway was taking in his orphaned nephew to be tutored by Hrothbert of Bainbridge, he'd raised an eyebrow. He hoped the child had a thick skin.

Months later, he got to see for himself.

* * *

While waiting for Ancient Mai to finish her meeting with Morningway, Morgan waited in the gardens. There he observed a boy, probably in his teens, lounging on a bench, shuffling a deck of cards. When he spotted the seated warden, he ambled over.

"Pick a card. Any card," the teenager said, holding out the fanned deck. Wordlessly, Morgan took one. "Now take a look and put it back in the deck. Don't show it to me." The warden silently did as he was told. "Okay, now…" Holding the deck up to his forehead, the teen closed his eyes and waved a hand, dramatically. "Is THAT your card?" he asked with a flourish. He gestured to a tree that stood a few feet from where Morgan sat. Stuck to its trunk was the three of clubs, which had been his card.

The warden stared, incredulously. Was this supposed to impress anyone?

"Tough crowd," sighed the boy. "I did that without doing any real magic, you know."

"Obviously," said the warden.

"I'm Harry," said the teen, unfazed by the lack of enthusiasm from Morgan.

"I know who you are."

"You here to see Uncle Justin?"

"No."

"Oh."

A few moments of silence passed as Harry shuffled the deck. "How do you like living with your uncle?" asked Morgan, out of genuine curiosity.

Harry shrugged. "It's okay." He looked about as excited as Morgan had at the card trick. Not that the warden could really blame him. The teenager was an orphan growing up with Morningway as an uncle and a cursed ghost that advertised his eternal damnation like a constantly blinking neon sign as his teacher. Which reminded him…

"How are your studies coming along?" he asked.

Harry's face transformed almost instantly into a large grin. "They're pretty cool. Bob's taught me tons of stuff."

"Who?"

"Bob."

Morgan paused before slowly asking in near disbelief. "Are you referring to Hrothbert of Bainbridge?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah, but it was kind of a long name."

As far as Morgan knew, Morningway addressed the spirit as 'ghost.' He said so as much to Harry who frowned.

"Yeah, but Bob's better."

"And the ghost…tolerates that?"

"_Bob_ does, yeah," said Harry, stressing the name. "Why wouldn't he?"

Morgan didn't know exactly where to begin explaining how incongruous it was that a spirit who in his life had terrorized entire villages and whose crimes earned him a curse that still made grown wizards inwardly wince should be given such a friendly-sounding moniker.

So he simply remained silent and watched the teenager hurry off when he realized he was late for his lessons.

* * *

As years went on, it seemed Justin Morningway was about to set a record for outliving any of the skull's previous keepers.

And then he was abruptly killed by his now grown nephew with the use of profoundly black magic.

The stopwatches were hit, wagers were settled and the skull passed onto Harry Dresden by right of Morningway's will.

Morgan couldn't think what could possibly be a worse decision by the Council. Dresden had a talent for attracting bad luck on his own. He didn't need the help of a cursed artifact. But again…politics.

The wizarding world clicked their stopwatches and bets were placed again.

Morgan hadn't been present when the Council ruled Morningway's death as accidental nor was he there when Dresden was officially named the newest keeper of the skull. The latest in a very long, bloody line.

While the warden encountered the ghost off and on during its time with Dresden, who was about as much of an outcast as the spirit at that point, Morgan only noticed the difference much later.

He was in the process of listening to Dresden's explanation as to why he had nothing to do with the Sieve demon that had been on the loose in the city.

Off to the right, the ghost interjected with the logic that if Harry were smart enough to conjure a Sieve demon, he wouldn't be so stupid as to stick around and let it beat him nearly senseless, which is what it basically had done.

It was during Dresden's retort to that comment that Morgan noticed for the first time, he couldn't see the cursed air that usually surrounded the ghost like a palpable net. In fact, if the warden tilted his head just right and squinted, he could almost, _almost_ say the ghost didn't look cursed at all.

And for a brief second, Morgan could see how the name 'Bob' suited the spirit perfectly.

THE END


End file.
